Unfinished Works

From what I remember comedy used to be pretty much, ‘Make fun of whoever’s not in the room (for better or worse) while not being afraid to laugh at yourself too.’ If it’s a black comedy, parody yourself while making fun of white people. If it’s a women’s comedy, parody yourself while making fun of men. So on and so forth but this gets old & the true classic comedies are those that take risks, pretty much the movies that couldn’t be made in 2023 Hollywood without getting cancelled today. I’m looking at you ‘Tropic Thunder’ (one of my all time favorite comedies).   Now that everyone has entered the chat via the internet, it seems comedy will almost always offend someone. The question is, is that the only way & also is it worth it? When I think of intentionally offensive comedy the first people I immediately think of are Ricky Gervais & Louis CK. They go WAY out of their way through their stand up to intentionally offend people in a way that gets them to burst out laughing. Th

What a weekend. Do y’all ever feel this way too? Got to hangout with my nephew, older brother, & dad a week ago & we ended up at one of those ‘family fun centers’ with laser tag, mini golf, so on & so forth which really made me reminisce on when this was the norm every weekend.  I remember my childhood Saturday’s being full of cartoons, friends, pizza, Pepsi, & some good times whether we were outside, in the house, or at an amusement park. Kickin’ it was always the best.  Nowadays seems to be filled up with so much homework, physical therapy, paying bills, & trying not to get your car towed on the daily. This may just be the season I’m in for now but It really makes you appreciate the days when you had less responsibilities & having fun was the center of your life  😂 To tell the truth I still feel like a kid inside, adults sometimes bore the heck out of me. If your definition of a party is just to talk with each other the whole time & that’s it, that’s not

I showed up early as I always do. Waiting as I always do. You show up late. The tears already dropping from your face miles a minute, hitting the sharp rocks of my consciousness for the last time with your indecision. Just say it already. We kissed too early. We were intimate too early. I jumped the gun and the residue of the chalky gunpowder covered up the droplets of two wounded hearts. It’s not all my fault you know. I did what you wanted when you wanted even when it was too late. Why didn’t you let me know you had already counted the days? Why didn’t you let me know the clock had already stopped? A growing fetus was stunted of its growth to become a stillborn. Trapped in the silent womb of invisible fears. Suffocated in airless hesitancy. Just say it already. I never should have come on time.

I cover up my scars. They only see what they need to see. They had been calling me names for quite some time. Can’t they see I’m just like them?   Why can’t I fit in? No one knows my pain and no one ever will. I will keep it inside. As it festers and bubbles I feel the anger rising to a broken surface.   It seeps out as I yell at a customer. She shows shock in her face but calm in her heart, she asks me what’s the source? None of her business. She says it is her business because my behavior was affecting her so now she’s a part of the situation.   I flinch. My inside’s are filthy. Fermenting in the putrid stench are the lies that have corrupted my mind. They slither nearer and nearer by the second, salivating for my beating heart.   This was my last chance. This poison was going to kill me. I share a little, a little more, not realizing I was moments away from the death of my soul. She meets my words without judgment. She speaks into me without warrant.   She gives me the truth as I he

Is it over yet? Three months turned to one long year Bank account’s empty Long nights were sleepless Back therapy promised peace I still toss and turn Better but not healed Settled but not satisfied I save up again. 

May 2020  I try writing and nothing comes out. What was once a loud, rushing white river rapids had now dried to a dusty road of what once was. Cracks had formed in the brown ground, evidence of life that once was. Have I limited myself to one writing style when I could be writing something else? Stories, themes, and sermons swirled in my mind together creating a mesh of an overwhelming overload of creativity. I put my lyric pen down and picked up my story pencil. I create my own blog and begin to preach sermons at my church. Was songwriting over with or comatose with no end date for recovery? In what once was a devastating fear got converted to faith as I painfully tore off the behemoth growth of music but wrapped the wound quickly as to deter the infection of further writer’s block as I kept writing in new styles, ironically this time not just as a rapper.  July 4, 2010  My friend David was a Christian but also a freestyle rapper. He seemed so cool and super talented as he operated t